I grew up a few miles from the ocean and my parents often took us to the beach on the weekends.  My Dad would pull into a camping spot with the camper, make sure that the camper was level to the ground (keeps kids from rolling out of bed at night), then he would turn off the motor and open the camper side door.

The opened door was the signal that we four kids could all scramble out of the camper and go exploring.  Sometimes we looked around the campground first but more often, we headed straight down to the beach.  Those were the days when letting four kids roam freely around a campground was relatively safe.

Sometimes, instead of swimming in the ocean, we kids all worked together on building a magnificent (to us it was) sandcastle.  There was usually a deep moat around it and depending on how well the wet sand cooperated as a building component, we would make the castle large enough to accommodate little tunnels through the structure.  Sticks and seaweed became flags and other ornaments on the castle.

As I recall, we sometimes played for hours, engrossed in our sandcastle building.  I’m sure that my older brother was the chief architect by virtue of age but we all had a part in the fun of construction.  Regardless of how much fun we had though, there was of course always a point at which we were finished and we walked away from it, sometimes to go swimming again, sometimes because our parents called us back to the camper for a meal.

I still remember being a bit sad as a young girl at the transitory nature of the sandcastle structure we were so proud of.  We knew that when we came back the next morning, our accomplishment would have been wiped away by the ocean tide.  We could not keep the sandcastle, we could not make it last.  We could only enjoy the moment and hold onto the memories of the fun time we had.

I have that thought often with the people who are so special in my life…that the time with them is precious but will change.  I spent last Saturday morning with my husband’s 102-year-old grandmother.  Every couple of weeks, I try to get over there on a Saturday morning and sit and talk over coffee.  It’s a treat for me to just relax and visit as the work week is so busy.

We talk about kids and life and memories…about nothing, about everything.  This last visit, we went over to a little café that we both like and did our talking over breakfast there.  We had a lovely time and then I drove her back and walked her into her house.  I needed to get back home so I said good-bye.  I always hug her (carefully) goodbye, kiss her beautiful wrinkled cheek and tell her I love her.  I always know when I back the car down the driveway and wave back to her (she always waves until I leave) that I have no guarantee of another visit.  We family members joke that she will outlive all of us but we also know that the day will come when her time on earth will be over.

I will grieve so much when that happens.  My Dad passed away 13 years ago.  Enough time has gone by that I can smile at the memories rather than be caught so much in the loss.  My Mom has been gone not quite 2 and a half years now.  I still miss her every day.  I still sometimes think I would like to call her and talk about something but I can’t.  The loss is still so deep that there are days that I ache inside for what is no more.

The only thing that helps the pain is the knowledge that I will see my Mom one day in heaven.  We 4 siblings still celebrate each birthday and anniversary for our parents through the text chain we have with each other.  We send “Happy Birthday” text messages up to heaven with emoji balloons and a birthday cake.  Yes, God does read text messages.  It says that somewhere in the bible I’m sure, right next to where it says there are no calories in heavenly cake.

My husband’s grandmother is the last of her generation on either side of our family.  I want to hold onto every moment I have with her, knowing that like the sandcastles that were always washed away by the tide, her time must also eventually come to an end.  Even if I don’t want it to, even if I want things to stay the same, life will change.  I will just keep treasuring the moments I have on earth with those special people in my life and then hold tight to the memories.